


An Understanding

by SonOfGondor



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, could be read as platonic but why would you, involves dragons, somewhat fluffy somewhat angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 16:58:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18503197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonOfGondor/pseuds/SonOfGondor
Summary: Sansa doesn't like Daenerys at all, she's sure. However, slowly but surely she starts to see the two women might understand each other more than they could ever have thought.





	An Understanding

**Author's Note:**

> Hi daensa fandom! I watched the premiere a few days ago and the only tension I saw was sexual tension. They're lesbians Harold. So here's a very mild shippy fic.

Sansa didn’t expect her to look like this. Her beauty is cold, the stare from her blue – no, not blue, _purple_ – eyes is icy. But Sansa knows the cold, longed for the cold of her home for so many years, the white of the woman’s hair is almost a welcome sight. So this is the queen her brother brought home. Beautiful, no doubt. Exotic and strange, a Targaryen.

But she’s mistaken if she would think Sansa would fear her ancestry, or her dragons, or her armies. She’s seen things more terrible than dragons, felt things more horrible than dragon fire. If she expects her to bend the knee, greet her with a bow, she’s sorely mistaken. But she doesn’t demand such a thing. She smiles.

“The North is as beautiful as your brother claimed.”

And for a second Sansa hopes. She hopes this woman might understand. That she might understand what it’s like being a woman in this world, what it’s like longing for the kindness and beauty of home. If the dragon queen can see the beauty in the snow like Sansa can, then maybe she can see _her._

“As are you.”

Sansa’s smile turns to ice. Beauty, then. How she had once longed to hear those words from a queen, until long ago, a golden-haired queen came by and flattered her. How naïve she’d been, believing beauty was anything else than a curse. But how could the dragon queen ever understand? She’d never have to be scared again, not with two dragons protecting her.

“Winterfell is yours, your grace.”

Words, based on etiquette, words, empty as Daenerys’ flattery. The world of women is of empty words and flattery, of empty beauty. Winterfell belonged to Sansa, no matter what this woman said. But for now she’d pretend.

 

* * *

 

Daenerys isn’t out of place in Winterfell. Sansa follows her with her eyes more often than she likes to admit. She’s almost always with Jon, and she almost understands. The Northerners stare at her with contempt. They don’t like her almost as much as she does. Arrogant and idealistic. Like Sansa once believed the songs, so does Daenerys still believe she can save the world. Does she understand what it’s like to rule in deed but not in name? To keep her people save and fed. Daenerys thinks she can take, like her dragons. Sansa knows she’s here to conquer, not to be an ally. She knows, and still Jon is blinded by her beauty. Another men, blinded by lust, thinking he can own her. Nobody can own Daenerys Targaryen. Sansa recognizes it as she recognizes herself.

 

* * *

 

“I meant what I said.”

Sansa tenses up and looks away from the falling snow.

“What did you say, my grace?”

“The North truly is beautiful.”

She’s alone, the dragon queen. Jon is no longer glued to her side, and her dragons are nowhere to be seen. It seems an outreach, almost. A token of peace.

“It is.” She looks away, to the snow, but can only see the way Daenerys’ hair streams down her shoulders. Like a waterfall. Like snow.

“It is your home, is it not?”

“It is, my grace.”

They’re quiet for a while. Daenerys is next to her, her hand next her Sansa’s, lying there, on the stone. She isn’t wearing gloves.

“Aren’t you cold, my grace?”

She smiles. “I am.” She pulls her hand away for a bit. “Aren’t you cold, lady Stark?”

“It’s as you said. It’s home.”

She smiles carefully. “Home. I’ve waited to come home for so long.”

“And conquer it?” It’s sharper than might be appropriate.

“I know you have concerns, lady Sansa.” Sansa doesn’t look at her. Beneath her Winterfell hurries, fears, above the world is just the two of them.

“Have you spoken to my brother?”

“No. I can see it in you, lady Stark. I can assure you, I am not my father.”

“No.” Sansa closes her eyes for a moment. “You’re prettier.”

She laughs, and Sansa realizes she’s been longing for this moment, to see Daenerys smile again.

“Thank you, lady Stark.”

 

* * *

 

There’s a knock on her door, and she rises to open it, expecting Jon or maybe another noble lord, asking for the impossible.

“Lady Stark?”

It’s Daenerys. She’s alone again, huddled in the elegant winter coat she’s seen her wear around. She is cold then.

“Good day, my grace.”

She smiles again, but this time it’s not the same. It doesn’t feel real.

“Will you walk with me?”

 

* * *

 

“Jon has been exceptionally quiet,” the dragon queen says. “Do you know what’s troubling him?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know, my grace. Perhaps the upcoming war?”

“No.” She sighs. “It’s something else. I hoped he had consulted with you.”

“My brother and I, we don’t always agree.”

Daenerys smiles a little. “When it’s about me?”

“About… matters of ruling, yes.”

“I hope I’m not causing a rift?”

She sighs. “No, my grace. The war is more important.”

There’s an urge deep inside of her, to let go of the etiquette and the empty words, to trust her. Daenerys seems to be able to, but how can she not? Even on foreign ground, she is powerful.

“Good.” She hums. “I wanted to show you something.”

They are there. The dragons. The dragon queen had taken her to her most powerful weapons. What was it? A threat? A token of friendship?

“Your dragons, my grace?”

“Yes. And a story. The story of how I became the mother of dragons.”

 

* * *

 

Maybe Daenerys understands. Maybe she does know what’s it like to be powerless, manipulated, _sold,_ in pain.

“Do you want to come closer?”

“Won’t they eat me?”

She laughs. “No. No, they don’t eat my friends.”

“I thought dragons ate whatever they wanted?”

“Not you.”

“How do you know, my grace?”

“I know.” Her smile is a challenge. “Come.”

Sansa nears the dragons and they stare her down, enormous eyes taking her in. She could have burned already, had the queen wanted to. She isn’t.

Daenerys laughs. “Just a little closer. You’re braver than most men.”

She doesn’t know if she’s playing a cruel game, but if she is, it doesn’t even come close than the games Sansa’s been a piece in. She steps closer and holds out her hand.

The earth shakes when the dragon steps forwards. Sansa stands tall, breathes in and out, matches the dragon, stares him down. Every scale is as big as her hand. Every teeth is as long as her arm. She isn’t afraid.

 

* * *

 

That night there’s a knock on her door. This time Sansa knows. No one else would come at this hour, no one else but the queen of dragons would dare disturb the lady of Winterfell.

“Lady Stark.” Daenerys is standing before her, alone, the coat wrapped around her nightgown. “May I come in?”

Sansa nods. “It’s warmer inside, my grace.”

The dragon queen is standing inside her room, looking around. She’s small, all of the sudden. Lost.

“This is your home, is it not, lady Stark?”

“It is, my grace.”

Daenerys sits down on a chair, stares into the fire.

“My home was taken from me. I want to reclaim it.”

Sansa doesn’t reply.

“How did you reclaim it?”

“What do you mean, my grace?”

“How do you go back when so much has happened?” She shakes her head. “You have your family, do you not?”

“I do, my grace.”

“Everyone I once knew is dead. The girl I was is dead.”

Sansa stands up from her bed and joins Daenerys by the fire.

“Let me tell you a story.”

 

* * *

 

“Are you ever afraid?” Sansa asks. “Even with the dragons, and the armies?”

“Always.” Daenerys answers. “How about you?”

“All the time.”

Sansa wraps her hand around Daenerys’s.

“Are you afraid now?”

“No.”


End file.
